


This Heat

by Zagzagael



Category: Black Dagger Brotherhood - J. R. Ward
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>V knows what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Heat

They had gotten themselves good and pass-out drunk, no question. 

Sinking deeper into the couch, opening one eye, then the other, then both experimentally, V squinted at the widescreen. Had he actually fallen asleep? He didn’t remember their impromptu “Dirty Harry” filmfest ending, but the screen testified to the contrary with a grainy black slate. He glanced over at Butch, and sure enough, the big male had both feet – socks only - kicked up on the coffee table; head back, mouth open, eyes shut, snoring softly. Vishous reached for the remote and clicked off the TV and the disc player, aimed it over his shoulder at command central, and clicked off the surround sound. He tossed it onto the coffee table where it clattered loudly. He looked guiltily over at his room-mate but the big male snoozed on.

He sat up and noticed that Butch was gripping his half-finished glass of single malt in one hand, and for reasons known only to the Virgin in the Fade, had the bottle wedged tight between his thighs. V watched him for a long moment, breathing deeply as he did so, his inhalations actually hurting him, swelling his chest, his heart jack-hammering away at his lungs. He willfully felt at the edges of his inhibitions, the sharp edges of his control now softened by the alcohol running fast and loose in his veins. How often did he get to treat himself so openly, indulge himself where the cop was concerned? Not often enough, he reckoned and decided he was a-ok with doing so now. He gave thanks to the power of the Grey Goose, but he knew it was more than that. He was hungry, thirsty, itchy, and horny and this male was food, drink, salve and....well, yeah. 

He looked hard at his room-mate, studying him as though there was going to be a surprise pop quiz handed him tomorrow on the cop. He had long ago committed to memory the masculine shape of the handsome face, the broken nose, the arching, slightly ginger-coloured brows, the swarthy freckled complexion and the ridge of jawline. Broad shoulders, deep chest, and the crazy length of Butch’s legs seemed to twist something inside of him. He stared hard.

But as much as he was enjoying this rare voyeuristic treat, he suddenly felt lonely. He thought Butch was a serious treat for sore eyes, no question, but most of his attraction was in their interaction, how the cop made him feel, made him think, made him....want things, made him actually feel as though he deserved to want, deserved to...have. He shook himself and settled back against the couch. He closed his eyes briefly, neatly storing away the image of Butch passed out beside him. He knew he would play that particular mind film over and over again in a more private setting. Then his lips twitched and he smiled and shook his head. 

“Cop,” he whispered, sitting forward again. Leaning over, he reached for the bottle of scotch and gently twisted it free and placed it on the coffee table, and then he reached for the drink glass and began to pry it out of Butch’s hand. 

Butch came wide awake instantly; sitting up so fast the drink sloshed over Vishous’ hand. With lightning speed he had V’s wrist tight in his other fist, long fingers as hot as brands.

“Whoa, brother, everything’s cool. You’re spilling your drink. And I think that would classify as alcohol abuse.” V raised his free hand palm up, but he had fallen forward, his other hand splayed open on Butch’s thigh. His spine began protesting as held himself away from the male. His nostrils flared and he had to close his eyes as the smell of Butch filled him, the very air becoming desire.

“What, what?!” Butch was disoriented and he clamped down harder on V’s wrist, pulling the big vampire further into his lap.

“Butch, it’s me, chill. I guess I surprised the shit out of you.” V willed another light in the kitchen on, realizing suddenly it was very dark in the living room. He saw recognition flare in the other male’s eyes, then his face relaxed, but still the grip was tight on his wrist and beneath his hot palm he felt Butch flex the long muscle on the inside of his thigh.

“V?” the cop asked.

“It ain’t the fang fairy.” V wondered where that had come from. Butch’s scotch-soaked thigh was wet and hot beneath his fingers. He gripped at the jeans, feeling the striations of muscle and tendon, beneath that the heavy femur.

There was a long, drawn out silence in which Butch loosened his grip slightly and V held his breath as he felt the cop's thumb begin to rub at the inside of his wrist.

“Naw?” Butch whispered, still rubbing heated circles into V's flesh. 

V laughed. “Maybe,” he answered. 

The look in Butch’s eyes, the smell of a mutual arousal filling his lungs, the wet and hot thigh tensing beneath his palm. With a slow, deliberate movement, Butch leaned towards Vishous and set the glass of whisky down hard on the coffee table before pressing himself back into the sofa, his movements feral and dangerously feline. He was like a maned lion stretching, power and muscle and sensuous smooth skin. V’s low-pitched laughter became a drawn out growl, he felt his control snap.

With a shaking exhalation, Vishous moved into the unbearable distance he had been keeping between himself and this male. He leaned forward, closing the sparking gap between them, and Butch met him there with his own mouth now open, growling back. V kissed him hard, his fangs lengthening dangerously inside his mouth. He ducked his head to spare Butch’s bottom lip from the razored tips, lifting his tongue up and out and tasting the back of the other male’s front teeth. 

But Butch seemed to know better and V felt him let go of his wrist, his hands coming up to grab at his face, his earlobes, pulling him back into the kiss, moaning when V’s fangs penetrated his thick bottom lip, crying out when Vishous could no longer resist sucking Butch’s bleeding lip into his mouth, between his teeth, laving him, swallowing. 

V’s eyes rolled in their sockets and suddenly he was straddling Butch, knees pressed deep into the Italian leather sofa, his hips hard against the other male’s abs, pushing him back, head down, mouths locked, Butch’s lower lip still tight between his teeth. And Butch’s hands were now fast on his waist, thumbs pushing down into his hipbones, pressing him home.

V  brought his hands up to Butch’s face, cupping his jaw, he released Butch’s lip, and fed his ungloved fingers into the cop’s mouth, groaning as Butch opened for more. He moved his mouth up to the top of the male’s head, tonguing at his hairline, rubbing his jaw just there, panting. He ground down hard, between Butch’s hands, feeling the other male’s erection against his own, hardly able to breathe with the thought of it, and suddenly, he stopped. 

Slowly, deliberately, rising up on his knees, he turned Butch’s head and pressed his ear against his pec, his five-chambered heart beating wildly, just there. He held him fiercely, breathing through this crazy moment. Beneath his hands, against his chest, between his knees, he felt Butch relax as well.

“Not like this,” he said simply, quietly.

“Yeah,” Butch answered, nodding against V’s chest. ‘Not like this. We’re drunk as lords.”

Slowly, V slid to the side, reluctantly lifting himself off, settling heavily into the sofa, his gloved hand rubbing hard at his face, brushing at his goatee. Butch leaned forward and grabbed the Lagavulin. He thumbed off the cork and tipped the bottle up into his mouth, pulling deeply at the fiery scotch. V looked away.

Butch’s forearms lay heavy on his knees, the bottle swinging between his hands. “Why dontcha get up and let me crash here. I’m gonna drink myself unconscious.”

“You'll have a serious case of the Irish flu tomorrow, O'Neal.”

"Liquid flu is the politically correct term." Butch nodded, looking at the bottle. He placed it on the table.

“Here.” V snaked his arm behind the other male and pulled him gently towards him. "Come here." 

Together they lowered themselves, lying down in one another’s arms.

Butch closed his eyes. “I’m passing out now.”

“I promise I won’t bite.” V whispered. “Not this time.”


End file.
